


Equinox

by sophiahelix



Series: Fire Season [15]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M, San Francisco Giants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 02:55:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15854790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiahelix/pseuds/sophiahelix
Summary: “Supposedly he trained Bauer with stuff he picked up watching my college videos.” Tim laughs, short and bitter. “Feels like he should be talking to my dad instead. He’s the one who came up with all that stuff.”“You’re the one who does it,” Buster says.He could have saiddid it. Tim appreciates the difference.August 2017





	Equinox

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [ohtempora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohtempora/pseuds/ohtempora) in the [boysofsummer18](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/boysofsummer18) collection. 



> _I would love something about their respective past seasons: Tim working with Driveline to try and reinvent himself and Buster on the Giants in a terrible losing season._
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> Thanks for letting me set this in the Fire Season universe! I miss these boys and it was nice to check in.
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> (...and yes, I’ve once again jumped the timeline forward with references to some big offscreen happenings in a much longer work in progress. It’s been sitting for a while but I hope to go back to it this fall.)

“Are you gonna call him?” Buster asks.

“I dunno,” Tim says, and twists his ring.

He’s lying on his stomach on the bed, the replay of a preseason Seahawks game playing on the television across the room. It’s a nice day for Seattle, the kind they get in late August sometimes, sunlight soft and glowing against the yellow gold of his ring. The jewelry place had mostly titanium, but Tim wanted a ring that looked like what it was, the way he remembers his dad’s ring looking when he was a kid. Heavy and shiny and gold; something solid, something real.

Besides, gold is Buster’s color.

“Well, what would happen if you called him,” Buster says. He sounds tired. He caught half the bullpen last night in another loss for Cain, but they aren’t talking about that. With the season almost over, there isn’t much left to say. 

Tim makes a _hmm_ noise instead. He gets the urge to play something on his phone, which sucks because he’s talking on it. He should’ve Skyped on his laptop. “I dunno, I guess I could go meet up with him. It just feels like a waste of time.”

Buster doesn’t say anything. Tim can guess what he’s thinking — _what are you doing with your time now?_ — but they’re not really talking about that either.

“I mean, McGowan says this guy’s a good trainer,” Tim finally says. “I guess he got Trevor Bauer started, you know him?”

“Yeah,” Buster says. “I know who he is. He was in Arizona’s system before they traded him to Cleveland. Nasty changeup.”

Of course he knows. Buster knows everything.

“Supposedly he trained Bauer with stuff he picked up watching my college videos.” Tim laughs, short and bitter. “Feels like he should be talking to my dad instead. He’s the one who came up with all that stuff.”

“You’re the one who does it,” Buster says.

He could have said _did it_. Tim appreciates the difference.

“Yeah, well, anyway, I guess this guy Kyle has been wanting to talk to me for a while, but he hasn’t,” Tim says. “So that’s cool. I’ve had enough randos texting that they can fix me.”

“Yeah, that’s bullshit.”

“Pitching coach I had in Fresno called me last month, can you believe it? I had like, five starts there. I didn’t even remember his name.”

“Mike Caldwell,” Buster says. He remembers everything.

“Anyway,” Tim says. He sighs. “I don’t know. This guy probably has some good ideas, but…”

“But what?” Buster says. “What else you got going on?”

It’s the closest he’s come all year to asking _what the fuck are you doing in Seattle?_ Tim doesn’t have much of an answer to that, no matter how Buster asks it. Enjoying some time relaxing, but that feels weird, after working so hard all his life chasing after one thing. Not sitting on his ass in San Francisco waiting for Buster to get back from a road trip, but he can't say that either. 

“Stuff,” he says, finally. “You know.”

They didn't really talk about it when he decided to take the season off, just like they didn't really talk about it when he signed in Anaheim last year. It's Tim’s choice, Tim’s career, and Buster stopped weighing in on that stuff years ago. It's part of what makes them work. 

So the way he's pushing now is out of the ordinary, like there's something else behind it. “How come you want me to go train at Driveline so bad? You think Bauer’s that great?”

“I think it sounds like this guy knows you pretty well,” Buster says. “And — ” He stops.

“What?” Tim asks. He's clenching his jaw, hard, waiting for it. _And you're just wasting your time if you're not going to spend it with me._

Buster sighs. “And, I dunno, whatever’s going on with you isn't gonna fix itself.”

“Wow,” Tim says.

“Tim.”

“Wow. I didn't know you were so worried about me.”

“Fuck you, of course I care.”

“I said worried.”

“Worried, care, whatever. Are you happy up there? You wanna be done with ball?”

Tim holds his breath, for a long moment. Turns his hand again, watching the light flash over his ring. Lets his breath out, blowing it against the speaker of the phone, a long rattling blast in both their ears. “I miss you.”

He hears Buster swallow. “I know.” 

“I want…I don't even know. I want it all back. I want stuff I can't have. There were some shit times but I'd do everything again. With you.”

“Me too,” Buster says, softly. 

Tim can't sign with San Francisco again, and they both know it. Too much history, too much baggage, for him and for them. He doesn't need the pressure, and they don't need people remembering who the face of the franchise got married to last year. The team always treated them fair, but a hundred loss season changes things.

“I don't know if I have anything left.”

It feels crazy to finally say it, kind of sickening and a huge relief at the same time. Tim feels his mouth water, his stomach gone suddenly acid, but his chest is light, shoulders loose. He's thought it so often, but saying it makes it real, and not just his problem alone anymore.

He's glad Buster doesn't answer right away. He'd know it was bullshit if he did.

“Listen,” Buster says, finally. “You wanna play again? Really?”

Tim swallows. “Yeah.”

“Call somebody who can help. At least you'll know. You still doing strength workouts?”

“Sometimes.”

“Well all right, that's something.”

“Thanks,” Tim says, dryly.

“What do you want me to say? You know you're supposed to do more. I'm not your dad.”

“You just like me ripped.”

“Well, yeah,” Buster says, and now he sounds softer, teasing. “Maybe get those arm workouts going again, like you were doing in 2010.”

“Oh, you noticed that, huh?” Tim’s trying to play it cool, but he can't keep the delight out of his voice. “I didn't know you were looking.”

“I was always looking,” Buster says, seriously. “You know I was. I couldn't stop.”

And Tim does know, because that's how this all started, seven years ago. Neither of them could stop.

There's a silence, and then Buster clears his throat. “Uh. Cainer asked about you today. He's gonna retire on the last homestand, you know.”

“Oh,” Tim says. “Wow.”

“We’re gonna do a thing, guys who played with him. Some people are coming up. Not at the ballpark, at his house.”

“That sounds — nice.”

“Uh, he asked if you wanna come.”

Cain’s always been cool about them, ever since he caught Tim coming out of Buster’s hotel room in the middle of the night, years ago. He's Buster’s friend more than Tim’s, but he's a good guy.

“Nah,” Tim says. “I mean that's really nice of him, but wouldn't it be weird?”

“Why would it be weird? I told you, there's gonna be lots of guys there who aren't on the team anymore.”

Buster sounds defensive, so much that Tim can tell he knows exactly what Tim meant. It's not just about the fact that he doesn't play on the team.

“Well, maybe,” Tim says, hedging. 

“I want you to come,” Buster says, quieter. “I still think about this like it's your place. I'm always expecting to see you.”

“Really?” Tim asks. He’s kept the lease on the condo the last couple years, but he figured Buster stayed there because it was easier.

“Yeah,” Buster says. “This season…it's just been really tough.”

His voice is tight now, more emotion than Tim’s used to hearing from him. Tim licks his lips, not sure what to say. “I know.”

“I miss coming home with you. Talking about stuff. You know.”

Fuck. Tim’s been avoiding asking him about the team, even since Bum got hurt and they started going downhill, but maybe he messed up. Maybe Buster wanted to talk and didn't know how to ask.

“Tell Cainer I'll try to make it,” Tim says, and he can hear the same strain in his voice as there was in Buster’s. “And then — you want to go to Hawaii again, in October?”

“Uh,” Buster says, and clears his throat, hard. “If you're going to talk to this trainer guy, maybe you should stick around Seattle, keep up your workouts.”

“I was thinking like…an anniversary trip.”

Tim winces as soon as he says it, thinking Buster's about to give him shit for that. Their actual anniversary was in July, and neither of them said anything. Tim remembers the day, but it was all mixed up with a lot of other stuff last year, mostly bad. It didn't feel real until they saw each other again in fall, after the playoffs, where everything truly started.

Maybe Buster feels the same way as Tim does about Hawaii, because he clears his throat again and he sounds happy when he says, “Well, I guess if it's a special occasion.”

“OK,” Tim says, and he can't hold back a big grin. “I'll see if I can get the house again.”

“Yeah,” Buster says. “That would be nice.”

There's another silence, a better one this time. Tim’s still smiling.

“Call that guy, OK?” Buster says. “I wanna see you at spring training.”

Tim chuffs. “If you think you can handle this heat.”

“I think I can,” Buster says.


End file.
